Return
by Potter's Redhead
Summary: He proved his Gryffindor courage more than once through his years at Hogwarts, but, as his seventh year drew to a close and Voldemort grew as powerful as he was before, Harry Potter finally snapped. Now, five years later, Ginny has to bring him back
1. Chapter 1

It was on a cold day that the man stepped up to the tavern, his patched clothing blowing around his thin, drooped body in the wind. He paused before it, not entering, appearing as though he needed to find the courage first.

Nobody paid any attention to the man. All the muggles took one glance at him and carried on, deciding he was not worthy enough for two glances. They tightened their scarves around their mouths, heaved their bags stuffed with Christmas gifts over their shoulders, ignoring him so well that a few bumped into him, causing him to stumble, too weak to take the blow.

But the man didn't care enough to do anything about it. He had far too much on his mind at the moment, still deciding if he had made the right decision, before he would no longer have the opportunity to turn back.

His green eyes stared at the door, dread running through him. He hadn't been down this way for many years. He hasn't been _this close_ to them for many moons. The last time he stood before this very door seamed like a lifetime ago.

And yet, here he was.

He could just turn around and walk away, the man reasoned. He didn't have to do this. He didn't have to go back.

But in his heart, he knew he did.

So without further delay, the man reached out and grabbed the black handle, opened the door, and stepped into the Leaky Cauldron.

Nobody recognized him when he walked in, for which he was grateful. He had been in the spotlight far too many times throughout his life. He just wanted to stay in the shadows now. And if he were recognized, he'd have no chance to be.

He walked over to the bar, drawing his hood down, yet knowing without a doubt that it wouldn't help. But Tom wasn't a really loud person. If he could only tell Tom to be quiet soon enough, then everything would be fine. He could get a room, pay Tom to be quiet about his presence, and figure out what he was going to do from there. Yes. That would work.

"Can I help you, sir?" Tom asked as he drew near. The sound of Tom's voice brought the man an unexpected feeling of tenderness towards the bartender. It was as though he had just returned to a time when things were better. When the sun shined everyday. When there were towns without the mist from the reproducing dementors.

"Tom, please be quiet. You can't tell anyone that I'm here."

Tom's eyes widened in disbelief. Even though the man had whispered his request, and even though his hood was covering most of his face, Tom knew that man anywhere. Everyone did. He opened his mouth obviously to ask if his eyes and ears were telling him the truth but the man beat him to it.

"Yes, it's me. Don't be fooled. Cobra."

At the word Cobra, Tom's expression no longer showed any doubt, only amazement in the situation. Disbelief of the idea that the man really was there, yet not that he was who he said he was. Cobra. It was their keyword. Their password. So that they would always know that the other wasn't an imposter. No one else would know the night that that man was his only customer, and the two of them sat up telling stories. That's where the password came from. A story. A memory. A better time.

"Yes…" Tom said slowly, staring. He walked out from behind the bar. " Yes…it is you." He stared up at the man for a moment, joy and lost hope returning. It was as though the man's weak state and ragged clothes weren't there. As though he was as strong and as wealthy as before. As though he still had a chance to right the wrong in the world.

"Let me take you to your room. Do you have any luggage? How long are you planning to stay Mr.-err- sir? You can stay as long as you'd like. No charge."

The man's guilt came again. Just as it had been for the past five years. "I can't do that to you. I insist on paying."

"No. No. No." Tom was practically bouncing with every step up the stairs, a feat for the old man. "Why, with what you've done, with what you've come back to do, of course I can't even think about letting you pay."

"I didn't come back to do anything."

Tom stopped at the words spoken coldly. He turned and looked at the man.

"I can't do what everyone wants me too. I'm not strong enough." The man's voice was defeated. Hopeless.

Tom said nothing. Turning around, he opened the door and stepped back, allowing the man to enter. "That will be two gallons per night. You may pay at the front desk."

The door shut sharply, leaving a dull echo in the man's head and a black room before him. He felt around attempting to find something, _anything_, to help guide his way around the unfamiliar objects. There was no light switch on the wall, something that he had originally forgotten, and his wand was somewhere within all the rubbage in his trunk. He resorted to shuffling forward, hands straight out and eyes straining to adjust to the darkness. He banged his shin against something hard. Bending down, he found that the top was soft and fluffy. He sat down, rubbing his hurt leg. Once more, as he had not for many months, he recalled clearly why he had left the wizarding world. But, as he stared around a room he could not see, he failed to recall why he decided to return.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was in a room, one that she recognized, but couldn't remember when she was in it before. It was red and gold with two curving staircases that disappeared from view; there was a fireplace warming it and sofas filled with people. As she looked, she saw that they were people she knew: her brother with Hermione leaning up against him knitting a baby blanket, Fred and George attempting to perfect some new prank they've thought up, Percy glaring unapprovenly. There was her mother, cutting an unhappy Bill's hair, and Flour begging Charlie to pick up all the hair falling to the floor. And then her father was before her._

_ "Are you ready? He's coming soon." He hugged her, muttering something about how his youngest was already leaving him, and walked away._

_ But she didn't know what he was talking about. Who was coming? Was she ready for what? She turned, trying to find him again so she could ask, but she tripped. Catching herself she looked down, and realized that she was wearing a long white dress: a wedding dress._

_She was getting married? To whom? When did she approve? She didn't remember. _

_ "Ginny, are you ready? He's coming Ginny. Make sure your ready. He's coming. He's coming soon Ginny." _

_ Her father was talking again, but she couldn't find him. She looked around but all she saw was an empty chapel. _

_ "He's almost here Ginny. Make sure your ready." _

_ Who? She wondered. Who? But she couldn't find her father. She ran through the sanctuary, pushing the doors open. She was in the Quidditch stadium at Hogwarts but the field was empty. _

_ "Ginny, you ready yet? He's here Gin, just around the corner. He's here."  
>She turned but saw no one. <em>

_ "No ones here…." She said. But as she did, she felt that she needed to look again. And when she did she saw him, his green eyes standing out to her. _

_ "Did you miss me, Gin? I sure missed you." _

Ginny Weasly woke up to the sound of her coworker swearing loudly. For a moment, she was slightly disoriented, wondering why she wasn't in the Quidditch field before she realized it was not reality, that it all just a dream. Harry wasn't really in front of her; he wasn't really back. Nor was he the seventeen year old she just envisioned; he would be twenty-two now, and he would have changed in the past five years.

"Dammit."

She looked up to see her coworker drop a match onto a small pile right beneath him. He was sitting beside a makeshift fire pit with their kettle pot beside him.

"What time is it?" she asked, stifling a yawn and crawling out of her sleeping bag.

He looked up. "Nine o'clock. You were asleep for ten hours. I was going to wake you up as soon as I got the fire started…but… well…" He grinned sheepishly. "You can see how that's going."

Shoving the dream aside, she asked, "Would you like some help?"

"Only if you know what your doing."

She snorted. "Of course I know what I'm doing…haven't you met my muggle-obsessed father? Watch the master." She leaned forward and pulled the box of matches out of his hand. Holding the box in her left hand, she drew her right across the side, lighting a match with obvious skill come from practice. "See? That's how it's done." She held it up for a moment before holding it down to the pile of twigs.

Dean grinned again. "And you wonder what I see in you, Gin."

She froze. "Don't" The word came out like a punch before it dropped to a slightly strained note. "We can't be like that. I've told you before…"

"But that was a year ago. Ginny, we've done so much since then. We've come so far." Moving in front of her, he grabbed her hands. "I know you loved him, Gin, but he's gone. How long until you admit that he ran out on us all? He's not good enou-"

"He'll be back!" She leapt from him, her face contorted in anger. Dean had worked with her for the past three years; he had been pursuing her for the past five. Ginny appreciated working with him, honestly she did (he was one of the best Aurors she could have as her partner) but the constant attempt to replace-well…she was getting fed up with it. Men, it seemed, never seemed to give up, and it was sparking her famous temper. "Don't you DARE give up on him!" She stormed. "He's done so much for all of us already! It's only natural that he might feel…scared."

But Dean was not convinced. "He's been gone for five years. That's no Griffindor…That's a scared Slytherin." He muttered, watching the last flame of the fire die.

"Oh ya? Where were _you_ when Voldemort" Dean cringed at her tone and the name "tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone? Or when the Chamber was opened? Did _you _save my life? No…you were scared just like everyone else! What about facing someone who was supposedly a murder straight out of Azkaban? Or any of the other countless times he's faced Voldemort? Where were _you?"_

"Ginny I-"

"You were running with the crowd who were too scared to fix the problem while _he_, unasked, faced things beyond imagining! I was there! And he _never_ backed down! He fought even if he believed it was going to kill him! He fought for YOU and all the other people who didn't appreciate him! So don't _ever_ say he doesn't have courage. Don't _ever_ say he's not good enough. He did more then you could even _imagine._"

An unsettled silence fell between them as Ginny stood, still red faced; Dean looked around as though he was slightly intimidated, but a moment later, he spoke again, softly, "That was years ago, Gin…he was courageous back then…but sometimes, people just…stop being brave."

If looks could kill, Dean would have died right then. But instead, Ginny just turned around. "I'm going to scout the area" She said, "And Harry's still brave. Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. He'll be back…" She turned back to glare at him with fire burning in her eyes. "And _don't_," she warned, "call me _Gin. _You haven't earned it."

And she was gone, leaving behind a defeated Dean with a dead fire and an uncooked breakfast.

For awhile, Ginny simply stomped through the forest, attempting to put her anger into the action, but eventually, she stopped: going too far alone these days was suicidal. Voldemort had risen to a higher statue then ever before and with it, he accumulated more followers. Their camping area was well protected by wards, but walking offered no protection, and the wards hardly went farther then the tent and the fire. There was a possibility that someone could be in the woods too, despite the unpopulated area, but Ginny was a Gryffindor and risk wasn't as much of a factor. She didn't want to go back yet.

A stream ran in front of her, and beside it, a huge bolder rose up to hang over the water. Climbing it gracefully, Ginny perched at the top, staring down into the unfrozen stream. She couldn't blame Dean really, she realized. After all, he didn't know Harry as personally as she did. Hell, sometimes it seemed that _Harry_ didn't know himself as well as she did. If only she was with him now…if only he would have _talked_ to her before he left…perhaps the war would be over. It was usually she (though sometimes Ron or Hermione) who could coax Harry's self inflicted doubts away. He thought too much, blamed himself too much. She should have noticed, she thought, that that last summer, the summer her fifth year, Harry was too quiet. But she just gave him space, blaming the silence on Dumbeldore's death.

Sighing, she stood. She had a job to do and innocent people were relying on her ability to do it well; she didn't have time to sit around pondering the _what ifs_ like a school girl.

It didn't take her long to make it back to the campsite, but, when she did, Dean was nowhere to be found. The fire was out, and the food still sitting beside it uncooked.

"Dean?" She called, looking around. The campsite was almost too quiet. Ginny pulled out her wand. "Dean? Where are you?"

"Here," a muffled reply came from inside the tent. Relieved, Ginny hurried over, flipping open the flap and stepping inside. The inside of the tent was huge due it's magical altering: in the back, a platform stood with green canvas that separated it into two different bedrooms, to the right, chairs sat with a coffe table and a bookshelf, and to the left, was a kitchen. Dean was sitting at a round table in the center of the tent holding the two-way mirror (Harry had given one to her and the other to Hermionie and Ron) with a shocked, pale face. A face that was too pale.

Ginny's heart froze-Dean was always an emotionally steady partner-but from training and experience of the past few years her voice remained calm. "Dean, what happened?"

It took a minuet for him to answer. "Attack at the Ministry." His voice shook.

Ginny cursed. They had been waiting for the Ministry to be targeted for obvious reasons, but they had hoped that the new precautions taken were enough. This was just proof that Mad-Eye's crazy ideas were becoming true.

"Who's all hurt?" She asked. Names of all the people she knew who were there ran through her head: Dad, Percy, Hermionie, Luna, Neville, the list went on.

"A lot of people. The place is ruined…dementors…giants…everything." Dean sat down whipping his hands on his knees after letting the mirror fall onto the table. "Hundreds died…even more wounded. They say they ran out of beds in Mungo's and they had to start conquering some up in waiting rooms. No one knows what to do, and Fudge doesn't even know who all is still alive. It's chaos. Complete and utter _chaos._"

Ginny sat down as well, her heart beating quickly in her chest. "Who that we know…?"

She knew, as soon as he looked at her, with the pity look, the I'm-so-sorry-for-you look, that someone close, someone from her family…

"Ron."

Her heart froze. She couldn't speak. Her throat was so tight…one would think that after all this time she'd be used to it. That she'd be hardened, emotionless. But experience and training only went so far; each new personal casualty was just as painful as the last.

"He's dead?" She finally whispered when she remembered how.

Dean shook his head. "No…not quite."

A new fear gripped her. "A dementor…?"

But again, Dean shook his head. "Thankfully no. He's in Mungos…in a coma and beaten up badly. Hermione said that the Healers are going to do everything they can, but they say he's the worst they've ever seen. It was some spell." His face darkened. "Malfoy…they say…."

Ginny sat back. Really she shouldn't be surprised. Everyone knew eventually that he would go for the ministry again and that this time neither Dumbledore nor Harry were there; she knew that her entire family were fighting the dangerous parts of the war; it shouldn't be a surprise that one finally got hurt. They made it five years, a fortunate amount of time…but, she thought, this had to stop. He was Ron's best friend; he had to know.

She stood, quick, determined, with a purpose. "Dean." She said, her voice authoritative as though she was getting ready to lead a mission. "We're going back to the Headquarters now. Your gonna need a new partner. I'm terminating this scouting mission and I don't care what Mad-Eye says."

Dean looked up in surprise. "Are…are you ok?" he asked, looking confused. "Your not making sense. Our mission is important. Surely you wouldn't just termin-"

But Ginny shook her head. "This war has got to stop." She told him. "And there's only one person who can make that happen. And out of all the people on this earth, if anyone can persuade him to do it, I can."

"You mean…?"

She nodded. "That's exactly what I mean. I'm going to go find Harry." She nodded towards the table. "That was Hermione?"

Dean nodded and she reached forward to pick up the mirror.

"Do you want to start cleaning up outside?" She asked him. Again, he nodded and walked outside the tent.

Ginny took his seat and whispered Hermione's name into the mirror. Instantly, her face, dirty and worried-looking, appeared.

"Hermione," she said. "tell Mad-Eye that Dean and I are coming back. We'll need the house open for us."

"Coming back?" Hermione frowned. "Why? The mission that Mad-Eye sent you is important and if-"

"I've got a more important one."

Hermione was silent. She appeared to be thinking about something and it occurred to Ginny that it was weird that she so composed-her husband could be his death bed. But she disregarded it. After all, she was his sister, and was still somewhat composed as well. The war, she reasoned, was dehumanizing them all.

"What mission?"

"Harry"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Ginny," she said after a moment, "we don't know where he is. He could be in America, or Africa or…Antarctica even! How do expect to find him?"

But Ginny was not to be denied. "I'll find a way." She answered mysteriously. "Just inform Mad-Eye. I'll be ready for his outburst when I arrive." And she put the mirror down.

Ginny stood up just as Dean walked in. "All right," he said. "Just the tent left then we can go."

She smiled. It's been five years since she had last seen Harry; five years of waiting; five years of going on without him; five years of doing _nothing _about it. Not anymore. Five years after Harry Potter walked out of their world, she was finally going to do something about it. She couldn't wait to find him.


	3. Chapter 3

A cold wind blew on a window invisible to the muggle world. Inside, was of a simple décor: a rug on the floor, a wooden dresser with a mirror over it, a door to a bathroom, and a bed. The bed was where the interest in the room was: under the covers, a man, famous in the world he just walked back into, was still laying (he had not slept well the night before) attempting to gain just a couple more minuets of unrestful sleep. But, his mind would not quit with his worries and past disappointments, and, when a tap came from the window, he slowly rose from the bed, willingly giving up any more attempts.

At the window was an owl; an owl also well known, with a distinct white color and bright intelligent eyes. Her feathers were being ruffled by the wind, and as soon as the man opened the window, she hopped in, giving him a sharp look for taking so long.

"Hey Hedwig." The man muttered, turning back to the bed.

The bird looked at him, then the window. She seemed excited for something. Perhaps it was just being back in the magical world. Perhaps it was something else.

"Did he write a letter for me yet?" The man asked, looking at the bird. "He doesn't know I'm back, though. It wasn't part of the plan."

But Hedwig looked back at him blankly.

"Apparently not then." He muttered, sighing. He did not seem to know what to do with himself. He settled for running a hand through his unruly black hair, showing an odd scar on his forehead for a moment.

A moment more passed with him sitting blankly on the bed. But as he saw the time, he rose. There was a metal flask on the dresser beside the bed, and the man reached for it, taking a large swig. He shuttered from the taste and paused for a moment.

It was only then that he finally began to dress for the day and after he was done, a knock came at the door.

The man peered through a peephole and, seeing that it was only Tom, opened the door.

"I thought that you might…ah…prefer to eat in solitude, sir." Tom announced softly, offering a tray of food.

The man began to take it, offering his thanks, but Tom moved the tray away, causing a bewildered look from the man.

"Stuff has happened, I'm afraid." Tom announced. "I think you need to know."

The man's face darkened. "I don't want to know what all is wrong. I can't fix it." He began to shut the door, but Hedwig flew over and pecked his ear.

"Owww!"

Tom took advantage of the interference and stepped inside the room, shutting the door. "Mr. Potter, you MUST know what all I have to tell you."

"I think we have different definitions of must, Tom," he answered, rubbing his ear and scowling Hedwig who was perched on his shoulder.

"Perhaps," the bartender answered, setting down the tray. "But, I have been around much longer then you, and therefore, we go by my definition."

He didn't answer.

"The dementors have gotten worse, the giants are working for him now, muggles are even starting to feel the effects…some of this you think you know, Harry, but you don't understand the _level_ that this is at. This time is worse then before," Tom announced.

Again Harry did not answer. He just sat stiffly on the bed staring blankly at the floor.

"But what you really don't know, is that yesterday there was an attack-"

"There are attacks every day." Harry told him.

Tom gave him a sharp disapproving look. "In that, you are correct, Mr. Potter," he continued, "which only adds a disappointment that it is not through ignorance that you remain unacting."

Again, Harry said nothing. Instead, he began picking at his food for a distraction.

"The attack, Mr. Potter, was on the Ministry."

Now he looked up, eyes wide with alarm. "The _Ministry?"_ he sputtered. "You-know-who attacked the _Ministry?"_

Tom nodded and Harry sat down with a look of horror.

"We're done for." He muttered. "We're all done for."

"But Mr. Potter," Tom leaned forward now as though he was attempting to catch a fast little dog. "You have something within you that the rest of us do not. Dumbledore himself-"

"I don't." Harry contradicted. "I can't do it. Five years ago maybe I coulda done something but now…I've taken too long. He's gotten too strong. I should have known better…worked faster…but now…if he's got the ministry, there's no hope." He stood up, Hedwig still on his shoulder, breakfast still untouched. "Tom, I'm going on a walk."

He walked out before Tom could say another word and headed down the steps into the tavern. He had no cloak; he had no way to hide his face; he had no disguise for his green eyes or scar. But he did not care. The significance of You-Know-Who attacking the ministry…there was no reason to hide anymore. Of course, showing himself was strictly against the plan, but he had always been around too many rebels to not become one himself.

The moment Harry stepped into the Tavern, the normal social chatter stopped cold; shocked silence filled the room. He did not pay any attention to them though, choosing instead to just keep walking towards the back, towards Diagon Alley.

A huge coat obstructed his view. "Harry?"

It was a voice familiar to the past. It reminded him of slugs and spiders, dragons and giants, bad food and booming comforting words. He looked up, and there was Hagrid, looking not a day older since the day of his graduation, but sadder in the eyes. No hatred rested on his face, only a slight surprise.

He didn't answer, but he didn't have to. Hagrid was already grabbing his shoulder and gently steering him back towards the steps. "Al'ays knew you'd come back, Harry. Ain't no bone of fear in ya." He muttered, surprisingly quiet for him. "But we don't need a whole group o' people shoin' themselves down yer throat. Gotta get ya outta sight. Ya did enough damage already."

Indeed, everyone in the tavern, none that he could see that he recognized, seemed frozen in their seats with open mouths and wide eyes. He cringed inwardly at the stupidly of showing himself-Rita Skeeter would have him on the front page by noon.

Hagrid opened the first door they came to-"Tom won't mind"- and pushed Harry inside ahead of him. The room was extremely small-only a fireplace and two chairs sat inside and basically, that was all there was room for. Somehow though, it managed to appear cozy in its scarlet theme.

Hagrid clicked the door shut behind them, pulling his old umbrella from somewhere within his massive coat and held it to the door a moment before turning finally to Harry.

"Sit," He said as he lowered himself into one of the chairs (it looked much smaller with him in it) and began shuffling through his coat. "You've got some explain' ta do."

Harry sat, but said nothing.

Hagrid didn't seem to mind the silence. He finally found some sausages he was apparently looking for and pulled out a roasting fork, spearing the meat. He moved it over the fire.

"Feelin' like cookin' the muggle way." He explained gruffly. "Figured I'd have the time."

Again Harry said nothing, but Hagrid didn't let him stay silent for more than a few minuets.

"So what have ya been doin' these past yers?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much" He finally answered.

Hagrid raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Harry looked down, seeming uncomfortable. Beside him, a spider climbed up on the armrest. He clenched his jaw and slid away from it.

"Saw Hemione the other day," Hagrid announced. "She said Ron's been busy-he's been workin' on finding the Horcruxes. Said he found five-two more ta go she said."

"Good for him." Harry muttered.

"Arthur and Molly doin' good too. Fred an' George been finding them Death Eaters. Gotten quite a few I hear. And Ginny, why, she's an Auror now. Workin' right under Mad-Eye with some Dean kid from yer year."

"Dean Thomas?" Harry asked quickly.

Hagrid poked a sausage and satisfied, pulled it off. "Believe that's the one."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "He better not be doing anything with her or I'm gonna-"

"That's not important."

Harry paused and Hagrid leaned forward. "Look, he can't do it alone. Now I don't know what kind o' schemin' you three did years ago, but ya need ter come back now."

Harry leaned back. "What do you know?"

Hagrid looked at him, his kind black eyes surprisingly knowladable. "I know ya aren't who ya say ya are."

Harry looked astonished. He stood up quickly. "I need to…go." He said, heading for the door, but Hagrid stood up too.

"You-Know-Who attacked the ministry yesterday." He said. "Papers say Ron's in Mungo's."

Harry spun towards Hagrid. "What?"

Hagrid just looked down at him. "He needs ya. Hermione's with him. Says he's in bad shape." He paused a moment, a tear glistening in his eye. "She's tryin' ta be strong, but she misses ya. An' Ginny…I don't think she knows anythin'. Ya should probly go see em'. They can't fight 'em without ya. Don't know why ya three ever thought ya could. Everythin' always took all three o' ya together."

For a moment, Harry didn't move. But then he turned. "Your right Hagrid. I've got to go." He reached for the door and pulled it open, hurrying down the stairs. Again, he didn't care if the tavern saw him-he was back now. What they had tried wasn't working anyhow. He felt it every day, but he still tried. It didn't matter though: getting into Mungo's was never included within the plan so now he had to take matters into his own hands. Rita Skeeter could print whatever she wanted: Harry Potter was coming back out to the Wizarding World, whether Harry liked it or not.

Nobody was in the tavern though when he reached it. He paused from the slight surprise but not for long. Heading out the back, he found the brick wall he had been told about and pulled out his wand tapping the bricks-three up, two across-and watched as an archway formed, showing the Diagon Alley he had always known.

He stepped into it, waiting for the staring, but only a moment after his entrance, the attack started.


End file.
